


till we're saints just swimming in our sins again

by lacecat



Series: dionysus club verse [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clothed Sex, M/M, Organized Crime, Porn With Plot, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Undercover, background flinthamilton, heavily suggested silverflinthamilton, luckily john silver loves bad ideas, stripper flint that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 07:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12104223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: “Who’s that one?” Silver asks, jerking his chin up at the man, watching him lean in to talk to someone -  every careful twist of his body seductive in a way that’s far more compelling than even the partially nude dancers up there. “The man in the middle there.”Her hand comes down on his arm sharply. “He,” Max says, “Is a bad idea.”





	till we're saints just swimming in our sins again

**Author's Note:**

> alternative title: 'what do you mean no one's written stripper flint'
> 
> im gonna blame tumblr user queerwalrus thanks

“How much for a dance?” Silver asks, and the woman in front of him turns around, a prepared smile on her face - until she sees who it is.

 

“Good evening,” Max says coolly. “I would have thought you would have spent your hours somewhere else.”

 

“What can I say, I like the atmosphere,” Silver says, glancing around the packed club, the glittering bodies of the performers on the stage, the haze of smoke over the lounge in the corner. It’s absolutely not his kind of scene, but he presses, “Can I have a moment of your time? I would _love_ to catch up.”  

 

She pauses, looks him up and down. “Buy me a drink,” Max says, “Then we’ll talk.”

 

When she has a drink in hand, Max leads him to a booth. It’s private enough so that no one will hear them, but with a clear view of the rest of the club - that, Silver can appreciate. She lets him slide in first, then she sits half on his lap, her arm around the back of his shoulders.

 

“I am only talking to you because for whatever reason, I have a strange fondness for you, John Silver,” Max informs him, leaning in so that there’s not a chance anyone will hear them. “Are you on duty?”

 

“Hornigold made me head of the team, effective this morning,” Silver says, and he takes a sip of his drink. “Why, did he not send you the brief?”

 

“I’m not due to receive contact with him for at least two weeks,” Max says, shifting her weight on him. “Why did they install you? And why is Anne not here?”

 

“How long have you been sleeping with her?” Silver asks instead, and Max doesn’t quite go still, but her eyes sharpen as she takes him in.

  
  
“Who told you that?” Silver lifts an eyebrow as he takes a sip, and she sighs in realization. “They found out, so they took her off the task force.”

  
  
“He sent me here instead,” Silver tells her. “I’m to infiltrate this place, and I thought, who better than to help me maintain my cover as poor, lonely, _rich_ Solomon Little, than his new favorite stripper?”

 

Max laughs openly at that, her arm coming around his neck. “No one in here would believe for one moment you’re some sad businessman,” she says, leaning in. “Not with that look in your eye.”

 

“That’s the point,” Silver says, and they both go silent when a drunk man ambles by. When he’s gone, Silver adds, “But I do have a lot of money, and that ought to keep most of their attention, wouldn’t you think?”

 

“You want my help to keep a cover,” Max says. “But what else do you want?”

 

“That would be a good start,” Silver deflects. “Tell me what I need to know, who I need to start paying.”

 

  
“It’s not just about money in here,” Max says. “You haven’t been here.”

 

“What, I need to smoke with some of the older gentlemen in here? The schmoozing, I can do, Max, that’s no problem-”

 

“No,” Max says firmly. “You haven’t _been_ here. You’re an outsider, and you don’t have the kind of money that’s going to get you anywhere.”  She glances to the side, her hand tightening on his shoulder for a moment. “The sort of money that runs through here, it’s bigger than we thought.”

 

It’s no secret that the Dionysus is home to a lot of black market money coming through- a minor laundering scheme at best, a major crime operation center at worst -  and given Max’s careful phrasing, Silver’s going to bet on the latter. They’ve had an operation running here for months now, and the security has been a nightmare to try to get covers to stick. When Hornigold had come into his office last week, Silver had thought someone on his team had died, the way that the old man’s face had been grimly set. He’s starting to see why.

 

“Do I need to be a dancer like you?” Silver says lightly, his hand resting on her bare back. “I’m afraid that’s not in my skillsets.”

 

“Not that,” Max says impatiently. She nods towards the stage. “Look there.”

 

There’s a dark-haired woman performing now, gliding around a pole to some sultry music. She throws her head back as the spins around, as an accumulating pile of money builds underneath her clear plastic heels.

 

“She seems to be doing well for herself,” Silver says.

 

“That’s what I meant,” Max says. “Look again, at the front table.”

 

The men below the stage are seated around sticky-looking tables, drinking beer and laughing raucously, more dancers in their laps and walking around. Max had been there when Silver had walked in, and even know he sees how the dancers effortlessly charm their way into these men’s attention - and their wallets, for that matter.

 

“Now look at where they want to be,” Max says, and now he notices how they’re glancing up to the mezzanine.  He leans forward to get a better look.

 

The upper level is darker than the rest of the club, evidently removed from the general populace milling about on the floor. Silver sees fine white tablecloths covering the tables, actual glasses and champagne bottles scattered about. A man is seated towards the railing, surrounded by others, the only one not wearing a suit jacket.

 

Not just any man, he thinks, as he sees an angular jaw turn towards the stage. The man looks contemplative for a moment, before turning back to smirk at something one of the other men at the table. He raises a glass of champagne to his lips - though even from this distance, Silver has no doubt that the person directly across from him is more focused on the way the man’s throat is working than the fact he’s not actually drinking the champagne.

 

“That is where the power is,” Max says from beside him, and Silver doesn’t drag his gaze away from the man as he listens to her. “Up there is where the business is done. If you want to get in, have any hope for some kind of  evidence, that is where you must go.”

 

“Who’s that one?” Silver asks, jerking his chin up at the man, watching him lean in to talk to someone, every careful twist of his body seductive in a way that’s far more compelling than even the partially nude dancers up there. “The man in the middle there.”

  
  
Her hand comes down on his arm sharply. “He,” Max says, “Is a _bad idea_.”

 

“He’s not going on stage anytime soon, but he’s clearly working,” Silver muses. “Some highly paid escort? A favored dancer?”  


 

“He is the boss’s man,” Max answers. “Used to work down here. But now, those people up there pay just to have drinks with him. Few have the kind of money to even get a private dance. That’s his privilege, they say. Flint barely interacts with anyone else here, when he’s not working.”

 

“Flint,” Silver repeats. The light from the stage moves, and it reveals the glint of an earring in one of the man’s ears. “He’s been here for a while, then?”

  
  
“Don’t,” Max repeats firmly. “ _He_ will find out.”

 

“The boss?” Silver asks her, watching as the man rises, says something that makes the entire table laugh - and Silver is riveted at the figure he cuts in a tailored suit. “I think I’ve found an opportunity.”

 

“Stay away from Flint,” Max warns, and Silver looks at her at last. “Get up there, but avoid him. He might look the spoiled companion, but he is much more than he seems. Find someone else to get involved in your operation, John.”

 

“A shame,” Silver says, “Since I don’t remember having the money to even get up there in the first place.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Max tells him, and then her eyes narrow. “When will you tell me the real reason you’re here?”

 

  
“I told you that,” Silver says easily. “Now, can you help me with this?”

 

 

She studies him for a long time, and Silver knows she doesn’t believe him, but she picks up her glass anyways. “Do try not to get thrown out, cheri,” Max says, with another lingering glance at him before she’s getting up to return to the tables. “Come back tomorrow night.”

 

  
Silver’s always been a man ready for a challenge, as he takes another look up at the mezzanine. First, he needs to get involved in this scene, and he glances up, he sees a flash of auburn hair as Flint disappears from his sight.

 

His day’s beginning to look up after all.

 

  
•••

 

 

The next time he returns to the Dionysus, he integrates himself with the crowd. He gets a seat at one of the front tables easily enough - some are there for a bachelor party, but most are regulars who accept him into their fold without too many questions.

 

Silver catches Max once or twice - she introduces him to Idelle, the woman who was on stage the other day. She makes a mean margarita behind the bar, and as Max informs him quietly, is also a potential informant if Max gets her way. Silver has no doubt that she will and flirts with Idelle for most of the night as she tells him about the customers here.

 

The night after that, when Max is occupied with another regular, Silver casually brings up the topic of Flint at the table. For some kind of high-end stripper, the man has far more legends surrounding him than Silver would have guessed.

  
“I hear he was working on the street when the owner brought him in many years ago,” one of the men- Muldoon- says conspiratorially. “He’s indebted to the man, now, and only dances for him.”

 

“Someone told me that he’s a secret assassin,” one of the younger men says, despite the laughter it brings. “That’s why no one books anything with him! He’s killed someone, I tell you-”

 

“He’s the one who gets your secrets right out of your head,” Logan, sitting beside Silver, brings up. “He looks mean, but supposedly, he can get a man to do anything he wants, gets in their heads somehow. Not like you, Charlotte, you’ve always been so sweet to me-”

 

Silver leans forward, around where Charlotte’s on Logan’s lap. “Have any of you actually, you know, met him?”

 

“Flint?” Muldoon asks, snorting. “You think any of us got that kind of cash?”

 

“What about you?” Silver asks Charlotte then, who bats her eyelashes at Logan before turning to him.

 

‘Oh, we girls don’t talk to Flint,” she says, “He supposedly used to work down here, but that was before my time, you know.”

 

Silver glances up at the mezzanine, but from this angle, he can only see the occasional top of someone’s head, and none with red hair. He excuses himself soon after, draining his glass before he goes, slipping past a tired-looking bouncer easily enough into the back.

 

The walls are thrumming from the bass even as he exits the club. Silver lets his fingertips brush against the wall as he slips through the side door, feeling them catch on the edges of the patches of drywall that have been sanded down.

 

He takes a quick glance down the hallway, then tries the first door handle he sees. The door is locked. Glancing back behind him to see if he’s been followed, Silver reaches into his pocket for the pins he’d stuck in there.

 

The lock is undone quickly enough, and he slips inside, closing the door with the quietest creak.

 

It looks to be a dressing room. The space is cluttered, with various items thrown around the room, but there aren’t any errant dancers in here. Silver does a quick glance around to make sure he truly is alone, before looking through the room. He pushes past the assortment of empty hairspray cans, bobby pins, pill bottles and lipsticks, trying to find anything of interest, opening the drawers and boxes he can get to.

 

Pushing by the racks of clothing, Silver goes back into the hallway, tries the next door. It’s locked too, but he’s in quickly enough, closing the door behind him.

 

This dressing room is far more tasteful than Silver would have expected- smaller than the first, but far neater. There’s a closet in the back, a vanity to the side, and a pale blue couch with a jacket over the end, a pair of men’s boots.

 

He opens the drawers; nothing particularly scandalous there. There are a few costumes, shirts and underwear, various props that he’s careful not to touch- and then a few silk ties. Silver picks one up, feels the satin under his fingertips. It’s awfully high quality for a dancer.

 

The next drawer, though, is even stranger. There are books and folders, pieces of paper, which strikes him as especially odd, so he rummages through them. There’s nothing particularly interesting tucked among the pages of the first book, no drugs or condoms or _anything_ like the first room. He reaches for another book, but then the door behind him opens.

 

Silver whirls around, but it’s too late.

 

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Flint snarls, and then the man lunges forward, slamming him against the wall.

 

“Jesus!” Silver tries to get out, looking right into green eyes that are furiously fixed on Silver’s face. “ _Fuck_ -”  


 

“Tell me why I don’t have one of my men out there come in here and put a bullet in your head,” Flint growls, and Silver tries to no avail to pull his arm away.

 

He decides to go for broke.

 

“Because,” he grits out, fingers clenched in Flint’s sleeve, “I’m an undercover police officer, and I have an offer for you.”

  


 

•••

 

 

When Flint’s done laughing in his face, he calms down enough to look angry again. He lets Silver go, and Silver adjusts his shirt despite himself.

 

“An undercover police officer,” Flint says. “For a lie, that’s among the worst I’ve heard.”

 

“It’s true,” Silver says. “Detective John Silver, newly appointed head of vice division task force.”

 

“Vice,” Flint repeats, and he snorts. “What might you be doing in this club, _detective_?”

 

“I happen to have been assigned to take down the crime ring that runs through this club’s offices,” Silver says. “Don’t bother and deny it, I know it exists.”

 

“Is that so?” Flint asks. “Well, I’m going to have to ask for a warrant if you want to arrest me.” He grins dangerously. “I’d call in backup, though. I’ve been known to break handcuffs.”

 

“Do you work for Thomas Hamilton?” Silver asks, and he sees Flint’s face shutter the moment the name falls from his mouth.

 

“What the fuck do you want?” Flint takes a step towards him, menacing, and Silver raises his hands.

 

“I told you, I have an offer,” Silver says quickly. “I have something you want, and you have something I want.”

 

“So what, you’re a dirty cop?” Flint asks, sneering, but he stops advancing. “Those are a dime and a dozen around here.”

 

“Not like me,” Silver says, steeling himself. “No one who can do what I can do.”

 

  
•••

 

 

Silver comes back to the club after closing hours that night. Flint had given him explicitly clear instructions, and he has no doubt that even an honest mistake will land him in far more hot water than he cares for.

 

Without the music playing, or the crowds, the club seems far larger. Silver’s able to appreciate the vintage-style painted ceiling, the details on either side, now that there aren’t writhing bodies in front of them, and the strobe light on the stage has been turned off.

 

“Detective,” Flint’s voice echoes out, and Silver nearly jumps. “You’re about to be late.”

 

“This isn’t going to work if everyone knows who I am,” Silver says as he makes his way over to the lounge. Flint is already seated at one of the round tables, sprawled in one of the chairs as he taps his finger against a glass. “Going to sic one of your men on me now?”

 

“We’re the only ones in here,” Flint says like it’s obvious, and he doesn’t move his eyes away from Silver when he says, “Sit down.”

 

Silver eyes the chair across from him. “I’d prefer to stand,” he answers, watching as Flint folds his hands in front of him on the table. “Did you think about my offer?”

 

“You want to give me the schedule for the raids,” Flint says, staring him down. “But I need more than that. I want the names of every other undercover officer, the ones you’ve managed to bribe in your department.”

 

“I can’t give you that,” Silver says. “The schedule will be enough. You’ll be able to manage your funds so that when they come looking when they seize the books, nothing suspicious will be going on on paper.”

  
“I want the names,” Flint says, and his fingers tighten, the rings on his fingers tapping against the glass. “I need more than that if this is going to happen.”

 

“And I need an assurance that you won’t lead me out to an alleyway and kill me once you’ve gotten that information,” Silver replies easily. “So as you can see, we’re at a bit of an impasse.”

 

Flint just looks at him. Then he says, “I’m beginning to realize you turned dirty because no one wanted to deal with you.”

 

“I have the highest arrest rate in the district,” Silver tells him, and Flint’s eyes run down him - perhaps just assessing, but Silver’s skin feels tight all of the sudden. “I was the one who took down Singleton’s organization last year. I’m competent if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

Across the table, Flint lifts his glass. The light from the candle catches the crystal side for a moment, casting streaks of color across the table. “Singleton,” he mutters. “I hated him.”  


Silver stays silent.

 

“You’re not involved in any of the other crime groups around here,” Flint says after a pause, studying Silver with an impassive expression. “You’re not foreign, either. Is it drugs, then? The money?”

 

“Well, I don’t like authority, to start,” Silver says. “What about you? Why would a kept ex-stripper have so much loyalty to a thinly disguised crime operation?”

 

Flint doesn’t respond to the provocation, as he smiles blandly - but his eyes are still sharp on Silver’s face. “I have an interest in keeping this place afloat. Isn’t that reason enough?”

 

“But it’s the power that comes from the money that entices you, isn’t it?” Silver says, and he braces his arms on the back of the chair, leaning forward just to see Flint’s eyes track the movement. “You don’t just want to be a wealthy man.”

 

“Power,” Flint says, and he leans back as if to think, his hand running over his chin. He’s wearing a dark suit, one that’s fitted close to his body that shifts even as he slouches back. As Silver remembers to drag his eyes up to Flint’s face, he continues, “Power is the shifting sands of an island going underwater. And you want the money?”

 

“I want revenge,” Silver tells him, and he sees something like interest flicker in Flint’s eyes. “I was a good cop because I believed in my people, and they believed in me.” The words next are harder to get out. “I lost someone. Now, I don’t find myself obligated to anyone, not anymore.”

 

Flint sits up. They stare at each other, and Silver feels the hairs on his arms stand up - but he can’t look away, not as Flint continues to stare down, his eyes flicking over Silver like he’s making an assessment. Flint’s tongue comes out, runs over the bottom of his teeth before he makes some sort of noise, and Silver lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

“Sit down,” Flint says again, and this time, Silver takes a seat in the empty chair. He takes a long drink of his Old Fashioned, as Silver waits across from him, watching the candle on the table between them tremble.

 

“You think you have it in you, to commit so fully to this goal?” Flint says finally, setting down the glass. “I haven’t decided on you yet. I have no reason not to believe that you won’t forget what you seek, the moment things turn ugly.”

 

“I know I do,” Silver replies, and he waits until Flint’s looking at him again, feels Flint’s knee pressed against his under the table, too close to be an accident when he says, “And I’ve got a long memory.”

 

 

  
•••

 

  


It’s been a few days since his meeting with Flint. Silver’s caught a few glimpses of him on the mezzanine in the nights since, but Flint hasn’t approached him since. He’s caught in this limbo, after all - Flint had made it very clear that Silver’s not to approach him, that he’ll be calling the shots in this negotiation. But now, he’s unsure whether Flint is just biding his time on making a decision, or if he’s plotting on how to take Silver out cleanly and quickly.

 

Silver had given a perfunctory report to Hornigold that afternoon. He twisted some tale how he was still getting involved with some of the low-level members, and he was going to try to work his way up the chain. Hornigold had made some dismissive noise when Silver had suggested bringing Max back, as she might be better use to them now back at the precinct. Silver had breathed in, out of his nose as he walked out of the department, heading back to his apartment before going to the club.

 

When Silver goes to the club that night, then, he’s utterly unprepared to see Flint on the main floor.

 

Flint’s talking with a man at the bar. His arm is casually propped against the bar as if he doesn’t know exactly how he’s positioned himself to draw attention to the broad cut of his shoulder, or the attractive line of his torso where it’s turned towards whoever he’s speaking with. He’s in a tee-shirt and dark jeans, but somehow looks more put together than the man in the suit.

 

As the other man leaves him at last, Flint turns to the bar to get a drink. Silver can’t help but stare at the line of his throat, the muscle of his upper arm that’s been revealed. As he approaches, he can make out a small crescent tattoo now visible on his bicep.

 

Flint doesn’t see him at first, not until Silver raises his hand to get two drinks from the bartender. “Do you like rum?” Silver asks. “It’s on me.”

 

“No,” Flint says, and he turns to the side. “Leave me alone.”

 

“What if I want a private dance?” Silver says innocently, taking the drinks from the bartender.

 

“You can’t afford me,” Flint snaps, and he looks around as if preparing to step away- or perhaps get Silver into a chokehold on the bar’s surface. He’s starting to see the credence to the rumors that Flint’s some sort of assassin.

 

“Are you sure about that?” Silver asks, taking out his wallet, and Flint turns back, the irritation is practically visible, rising from him. “If you don’t want to, I’m sure there’s someone else here that would be willing to put on a show for me.“

 

Flint comes close to him, and Silver freezes when he feels Flint bend his head to whisper in his ear, “I’m not a whore looking for spare change, and I certainly don’t dance for dirty cops.”

  
“I wouldn’t call this _spare change_ ,” Silver says, grasping onto the wallet, “But you haven’t considered my full offer, after all, so I thought I’d give you the chance to speak with me again.”

 

Flint chuckles, but it’s a dangerous sound that makes all the hair on the back of Silver’s neck stand up. “You call being a traitor some offer? I only deal with people I trust, and I certainly don’t trust you.”

 

“But you haven’t had me killed yet, so I’d say that’s progress,” Silver says, and he sees how Flint’s eyes dart down to his mouth when he smirks. “Right?”

 

“Progress, detective, is when I respect you enough so that I deem you _worthy_ to talk to.”

 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Silver bites back before he can help it, and he sees Flint’s eyes go wide - with anger or something else, he’s not quite sure, for then Flint’s hand lands on his elbow and then he’s effectively boxed into the bar. Silver can’t help the small gasp that comes out when Flint squeezes his arm, or maybe it’s the knee that’s now pressed between Silver’s legs.

 

“Well?” Flint asks, and his fingertips squeeze into Silver’s side, through his shirt. “Are you going to clarify your remark? Am I not enough for your _respect_ , is it?”

 

“You haven’t given me an answer,” Silver says heatedly, and Flint’s fingers tighten on his arm. “Do what you will with me, but make up your mind already!”

 

Flint looks at him, and inexplicably, he lets go of his elbow -  without leaning away. “You want ten percent of the total profit?” he says. “I’d pay twenty for someone to do away with you right at this moment.”

 

“You don’t see my worth?”

 

“I see that you’re a snake that cannot be trusted,” Flint says, and his leg is still pressed between Silver’s, and he leans even closer. “What else can you give me for that sort of money?”

 

“I know that you’re close to the man who runs this place,” Silver says, and Flint’s eyes are fixed on his at that. “I can offer you a way out of that, if you want. It would you go anywhere - you’d be under no man’s thumb. You could own this place yourself.”

 

“You think I want to leave this life?” Flint asks, voice soft but no less deadly, and his eyes flick to the side. “You think that whatever could become of the two of us working together, I would betray another man’s trust to do so?”

  
“Surely you can’t trust the man you’re working for,” Silver tells him. “When times get tough, how many of these men do you think would honestly stay by your side? How much money does it take to test these bonds of loyalty?”

 

“You think yourself such a good judge of character,” Flint says lowly, with the underlying steel that Silver’s beginning to recognize. “Is that it?”

 

“I think I’ve made my motivations very clear,” Silver says, and with Herculean effort, he manages to put his wallet between them, an interruption in the small amount of space between their chests. “Now, can I buy a few minutes of your time?”

 

Flint’s pupils are dilated from this close. Silver has never in his life been under such scrutiny - as he feels drawn in, unable to walk away even if Flint refuses. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do either way, as the hum of the club fades away into the background, Flint’s eyes all-consuming.

 

When Flint reaches down to take his arm, the one with the wallet still in it, Silver stops breathing for a moment.

 

“Come,” Flint says, and Silver abandons the drinks on the counter so that he can be led to one of the more private rooms in the side of the club. He’s aware of the multiple jealous looks that he’s getting, being towed by Flint like this, as Flint leads him through the crowd, his hand hot and tight on Silver’s wrist, Silver helplessly following.

 

He giving the bouncer at the side a nod, as Silver tries to adjust his trousers without being conspicuous - and then Flint’s pulling him inside the side room.

 

The music from outside is only slightly muffled when Flint pulls the heavy, dark purple curtain closed. Silver looks around. “This isn’t where you knock me out and take my money, is it?” he asks, a little nervous.

 

“Sit in the chair,” Flint orders, and Silver does so obediently before he realizes what he’s doing.

 

“You don’t actually have to-” Silver starts, but Flint shoots him a look that makes his mouth click shut.

 

“I think that it’ll look a lot more suspicious if I’m just _talking_ to you for the next song,” Flint says, and he starts to take off his shirt. “No one should be able to hear us in here, but it’s better safe than sorry.”

 

Rather than watch - because to be honest, this is unfamiliar ground, even for him - Silver takes out his wallet again. He puts the cash in the small tray to the side, and Flint drops his shirt on the ground in response.

 

The music changes, and it’s something with a deep beat that Silver can feel in his chest, as he openly stares at the other man. He has more freckles than Silver has seen before, and there’s a hefty amount of muscle that makes Silver’s mouth go dry, the curve of his pectorals enticing, even before Flint moves towards him.

 

Silver starts to stand. “We don’t have to-” but Flint puts his hand right in the center of Silver’s chest, pushing until Silver falls back into the chair.

 

“I do hope you’re not trying to go anywhere,” Flint says, and he turns around, sits right on Silver’s splayed thighs. He brings Silver’s hands to around to his waist, and Silver balances him, as he moves up, closer to him, stretching back, feels the line of Flint’s body against his.

 

“I don’t take kindly to men running out on me,” Flint continues, leaning back until his back is pressed against Silver’s chest, his head going to the side of Silver’s neck. “Isn’t this what you wanted, after all?”

 

Silver would deny it, but he can’t lie to himself - ever since he’s seen Flint sitting at that table, he’s thought about this. There are some things he would have preferred to change - for this to be less of a _transaction_ , or maybe he wants Flint to be facing him right now, so Silver could lick the trail of freckles up his bicep, to the hollow of his throat, up to his mouth -

 

He’s not sure when the thick feeling in his chest, climbing up in his throat, had turned from frustration over the enigma that Flint has turned out to be - into _this_ , as Silver tries to regulate his breathing, Flint moving over him like some sort of vivid fever dream. Silver is afraid if he reaches up to touch him, he’ll disappear, slip from between his hands like mist on a hot summer’s day.

 

He doesn’t say anything to Flint’s question, but from the involuntary sound that comes from his throat when Flint gyrates over him, he thinks he gets his answer.

 

It takes most of his concentration to form a sentence. “Are you this chatty with all your customers?” Silver says finally, but then Flint starts moving his hips in an expertly sinuous motion, in time to the music playing outside. Silver forgets what he was going to say. He tries, “Or is it- is it-”

 

“Seems that I’ve found how to get you to lose that tongue of yours,” Flint says, still moving on Silver’s lap. He twists his neck, looking right back at Silver- and Silver feels his breath catch in his chest at the look in Flint’s eyes, as Flint glances down to his mouth again.

 

But before anything can happen, Flint gets up off his lap. Silver’s hands dangle at his side, feeling helpless as Flint takes a step away.

 

“You know, back when I did this far more often, I remember how some people like when I talk. They want me to ask them about their day, let me soothe their worries,” Flint says, almost conversationally. Silver fights the urge to whip his head around when Flint walks behind him, runs his hands over his shoulders, and Silver’s hands curl into fists.

 

Flint leans down, his lips brushing against Silver’s neck. "Others, though,” Flint says, and Silver’s fingers now loosen, just to tighten on the edge of the chair nearly painfully, “Others like being told exactly what to do.”

 

“You _want_ to tell me what to do,” Silver says, slightly proud of the way he’s managed to level his voice. Flint walks back around to the front of him, and Silver purposefully doesn’t look at how Flint’s hips are swaying, focuses on the task at hand. “You and I, we can own this place. Tell me- what you want in exchange.”

 

“You seem to have some ideas on how this will go,” Flint says, and he leans down to runs his hands down Silver’s thighs, his fingers maddeningly light as they work up and down. “What if what I want, you can’t give me?”  


 

“Everything has a price,” Silver says, trying to focus, despite his legs parting as Flint steps between them. “Your boss, for instance -  what if I told you, you didn’t need him anymore? We could get rid of him.”

 

Something in Flint’s eyes flashes then, and he steps over his legs, moves to sit back down on Silver’s lap. His knees come to either side of Silver’s hips, and Silver clutches even tighter onto the bottom part of the chair as Flint asks from above him, “You think you can come between us like that? You think there’s a _we_?”

 

“What can I say?” Silver says, and he lets himself watch how the light reflects off of Flint’s skin as he gyrates above him, under the guise of tilting his head up as in defiance. “I do enjoy a challenge. We could be the kings of this place-”

 

In response, Flint grinds down heavily on him on the next beat. Silver’s jaw drops slightly before he can help himself, as Flint loops his hands over Silver’s shoulders once again, fingers digging into his neck just so. There’s a flush that’s starting to grow on Flint’s chest, over his shoulders and up to his neck, and Silver is caught by the sight, stuck between the chair beneath him and the weight of Flint’s body over his, as he watches - feels - Flint move.

 

“Do you know what I enjoy?” Flint says, getting close enough so that Silver is unable to continue staring down at where Flint’s grinding against him, instead of looking at the green eyes that are fixed on Silver’s face - mapping every reaction.

 

His hands start to come up, but then Flint leans down impossibly closer, pressed right against Silver’s chest, and he pins his wrists down with his hands. Silver’s mouth drops once again, as Flint’s hips move in figure eights now. He can feel himself grow hard at the contact, as Flint exhales, his breath hot on his face, and Silver is _on fire_ -

 

“I haven’t danced in years, _”_ Flint tells him, somehow managing to continue, and Silver lets himself groan as Flint’s hands move up, letting go of his wrists to squeeze on his shoulders, gaining better balance as his hips move over him, his legs splaying to the sides. Silver thinks that the music must still be playing, but he can’t hear, not as Flint rocks down, as close as he can get to him, as Flint leans in once more.

 

Silver can’t help the answering movement of his body, his hips moving up and down, desperate for any sort of contact, as Flint says, “I do this because I want to. I do this because this is how men tell me what I need to hear, what I want to know. In here, I am the only king, and you should _know that_.”

 

“You do this to all the men who come in here?” Silver asks as Flint slides his hands up around him, and there’s no way Flint can’t feel how hard he is right now. “You do this to every dirty cop who propositions you?”

 

Flint’s eyes are glowing. “What do you want?” he demands, grinding back down, and Silver’s hands fly up to his sides as if on instinct. Flint lets out the quietest groan - but it’s enough that when he leans in once again, his mouth so close to Silver’s, that Silver nearly forgets that he even made a sound in the first place. “Well?”

 

“I want a partner,” Silver tells him, dizzy from all the sensations, the thrumming of the music, the feeling of Flint _right there_ , “I want to sit on a pile of money, and I think I want you by my side.”

 

Outside, the song fades into the next one. But instead of getting up, Flint still looks at him- and whatever he sees, it must mean he makes up his mind, for Flint leans down, and he licks a hot stripe up Silver’s neck.

 

Silver throws his head back, gasping, as Flint bites on the skin at the base of his neck, no doubt going to leave a mark. He moves his hands now over to Silver’s, encouraging him to tighten his grip on his waist, as he sucks on the skin there.

 

“Flint,” Silver grits out, and then Flint’s mouth is on his, and he’s licking right into Silver’s mouth. Flint kisses like he’s devouring him, teeth clacking together and it’s _good_ and _real_ , and it’s making Silver’s higher functioning ability turn off as he tugs his lower lip in between his teeth. When Silver kisses back, his hands go up to hold the back of Flint’s head, pulling him closer, and Flint makes a sound into Silver’s mouth that Silver would like to hear until his dying days.

 

Silver’s mouth slides against his, wet enough so that he groans against the corner of Flint’s mouth next, moving his hands now so that his nails dig into Flint’s sides.  He moves up to the weight of Flint’s ass rubbing against him, feels himself grow impossibly harder as he slides his hands up once more, grasping at Flint’s strong shoulders.

 

Flint throws his head back, and Silver inhales from where his face is now pressed against the dip at the base of his neck, smells sweat and cologne, and he lets his teeth scrape on instinct against his collarbone.

 

“You-” Flint starts, and he stops when Silver bites lightly into the triangle at the base of his neck. Silver pulls his hips down, running his hands over Flint’s back now, as Flint shudders, leaning forward, his movements messy and uncoordinated and Silver feels as though he’s going to explode out of his skin if Flint doesn’t _move_. “Silver-”

 

“Fuck,” Silver breathes out instead, as Flint regains some sort of thought, and he begins to bounce up and down as if in revenge. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck-_ ” There’s only a curtain between them and many other people, but Silver can’t care in this moment even if they were out in the center of the club right now, surrounded by hundreds of prying eyes. Not when he can hear his heartbeat thud in his ears, not when he can feel Flint’s heart racing from where his chest is up against him, feel Flint hard against his stomach-

 

“That’s it,” Flint says, right into his ear, and he reaches behind Silver to tug on his hair, as Silver lets out a moan, his head falling back. Flint reaches down in between them, presses a hand against him without breaking his rhythm. Even though it’s through the material of his trousers, Silver lets out a strangled noise at the touch. “You think you can trick me into doing anything? Like this, I can see you-”

 

Silver starts to reply, but he loses his train of thought once again when Flint rubs deliberately against his cock through the material, his hand tight and hot against him. As Flint rolls his hips down with even more vigor, he leans down and bites Silver’s earlobe. The sharp pain is enough of a contrast to the pressure on his cock, and Silver comes so hard he sees white behind his eyes, throwing his head back against the chair, oblivious to the pain that radiates through the base of his skull.

 

He thinks he might be squeezing Flint too tightly, but then by the noises that Flint’s making from where he’s still moving above him, Silver thinks he might be forgiven. By the time that his vision clear enough for Silver to remember where he is, he opens his eyes to see that Flint’s still watching his face from where he’s perched on him. His eyes are dark, and there’s even more of a flush high on his cheeks. Silver lets out a bitten-off sound when he realizes he’s still moving against Silver, slowly but surely, waiting for Silver to come back.

 

Daring, Silver puts his hand on his bare chest, feels Flint’s heart under his palm. He slides it down Flint’s sternum, feeling muscle and every little movement each time he takes a breath. Flint just watches him, his movements slow, but he makes no move to remove Silver’s hand.

 

“Can I-” Silver asks, and Flint’s already nodding, putting his hand on the back of the chair, breathing heavily as he watches Silver’s hand run down his chest, over his abdomen.

 

Silver’s hand slows down when it gets to the cool metal of Flint’s fly. He curves his hand around the front of Flint’s trousers, feeling him hard and hot through the material, and he looks right back up at Flint when he unzips his fly with one hand, slips his hand inside, touches him.

 

Flint’s eyes close as Silver grasps him, and the rocks into the touch with a low moan. Silver’s other hand comes up, to steady him where he’s on his lap. He works at him the best he can at this angle, running his thumb over the head of his cock - and Flint lets out a full-body shudder, eyes flying open, his brow furrowed as he looks right at Silver, as Silver lets him thrust into the tight fist of his hand.

 

“Tell me,” Flint says, and Silver cannot for the life of him figure out what he wants to know, not when his brain is so intensely focused on the way that Flint’s mouth is red and wet under the light, his limbs heavy like he’s wading through syrup.

 

But then Flint puts his fingers up against Silver’s mouth, and he thinks he might get it. Flint puts his thumb at the seam of his lips, and Silver opens his mouth just enough for the finger to slip in.

 

Flint grits his teeth at the sight and the noise that he makes as Silver’s tongue runs over his thumb, sucks at the digit like it’s his cock, is _obscene_ , especially as Silver speeds up the motion of his hand in return, feeling Flint’s cock twitch.

 

“That’s-” Flint starts, just as Silver twists his wrist on the upstroke, and then Flint’s back is arching towards him. His cock pulses in Silver’s hand as Flint gasps, his eyes squeezing shut as he comes, and Silver thinks he might not notice if the entire room was on fire right now, as he continues to suck on Flint’s finger, work at his cock until Flint’s breathing is ragged, as he shakes above him, yet Silver feels like he’s the one who’s been hit by lightning.

 

Silver withdraws his hand after a few moments, and he carefully releases his tight grip on Flint’s hips as they both recover.  Flint’s chest heaves above him, his eyes still closed, and Silver lets his tongue dart out, wet his lips, prepared to say _something_ -

 

But before he can do anything, Flint straightens up. He swings his legs off of him, remarkably coordinated, as Silver is stuck in the chair, watching him stand before he turns away.

 

“I-” Silver starts, and he pauses, looking at the line of Flint’s bare back, the sudden tightness in his shoulders. Flint picks up his discarded shirt, slides it over his head.

 

He doesn’t look back at him.

 

“I meant it,” Silver says, and Flint stills once his shirt’s back on. “You and I, we would work well as partners. I know this, and I think you do too.”

 

Flint goes to the curtain, but he pauses. “You have a few minutes,” Flint says, without turning around, and then he pushes the curtain open and Silver is left alone.

 

It takes him the full few minutes to try to scrape together his brain cells once again, adjust himself in his clothing while remaining seated - and he realizes the money is still on the tray. Silver stares at the wad of bills, and then he tilts his head back, looking up at the dark ceiling as if that will give him any answers.

 

 

  
•••

 

  


The next day, Silver’s back at the club. From a distance, he sees Max performing on stage. He gets a glass of water from the bartender, and sips it, keeping a careful eye out for Flint around him.

 

But there’s no sign of him today. He’s not milling about on the mezzanine, nor is he on the floor - and as Silver looks around, trying not to be too conspicuous, he wonders if it’s possible that it's his day off.

 

Unlikely - he knows the sort of man Flint is, and he doesn’t seem the type to take vacation days. Flint hadn’t gotten any sort of message to him either - not that he’d know what to expect- but since no one had shown up at Silver’s door to kill him, he thinks they might have a shot at getting out of this.

 

The clink of his glass on the bar’s surface makes him think about the rings on Flint’s fingers hitting against his own glass. Was Flint wearing those rings yesterday, when he was grinding above him? Silver doesn’t remember having a ring in his mouth, but with all that was happening, it’s quite possible that he forgot some details.

 

On stage, Max finishes her set, and she bows to the cheers of the men below the stage. One of the assistants collects her money for her as she exits into the back. Silver watches her go, and turns back to the mirrored bar - but not before he catches the eye of a bouncer, who starts to approach him in response.

 

Silver turns away, tries to find the bartender instead, but then there’s a heavy hand on his shoulder. He freezes. 

 

“I’m just here for some fun,” Silver says, giving him his best disarming grin as he spins around, entirely expecting to get thrown out into the cold winter night. “Come on-”

 

Instead, the burly man says, “You’ve been summoned,” and Silver looks at him up and down with more caution. He could have the element of surprise, dip through the crowd and lose him, but then another man steps up from behind this one.

 

He downs his water first, swallows. “All right, then,” Silver says, and he gets up.

 

Max catches his arm while they’re passing by a crowd of drunk dancers, having slipped out from the back. “Cheri,” she says, low enough and with a smile on her face so that no one would think anything was up, except for the tight grip on his forearm, as she gives a smile to the bouncer before turning back to him. “He was asking about you. What did you do?”

 

“Who?” Silver asks as the bouncer tries to push on his arm. “Max?”

 

She’s forced to let go, though, and Silver has half a second to stare at her before he’s being ushered away once again, this time up the stairs to the upper level. But instead of stopping by the tables, he’s escorted to one of the back rooms.

 

The room that they enter is far more clean and ornate than the other places in the club. It has people in it already, with a few men on the long couch in the center, a desk with a phone on it to the side. Silver takes very careful note of the door at his back, the chandelier that’s high above them all, the crystal decanter on the table in front of him.

 

The bouncer clears his throat, and one of the men sitting on the couches waves his hand, barely looking up from some piece of paper. Instantly, the people around him start to file out around Silver, not one of them giving him a second look as they walk by.

 

Silver stays in place as the man on the couch looks right back at him, until they’re the only two left in the room, the bouncer closing the door behind him with a soft click.

 

“This feels rather ominous,” Silver says after a moment, not quite sure what to say. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

 

“I apologize for the inconvenience, Detective Silver, but you have to understand that my time is quite valuable,” the man says, setting down the paper, and Silver goes still.

 

Silver would peg the man in front of him for some soft professor type, in another place, in another world - where there wasn’t a dangerous intelligent glint in his eye, or the fact he’s wearing the kind of suit that Silver knows costs more than his paycheck last month.  “Care for some Bordeaux?” he offers.

 

“I’ll have to pass,” Silver says, and he wonders if he backs up, even slowly, if that’ll make the man pounce at him, with the way that he’s sitting like a lion on his throne. “Must keep my wits about me.”

 

The man smiles, and Silver notices the gun at his waist when he moves to pick up the decanter, pouring himself a glass of wine. “I have no doubt that your wits are very impressive,” the man says, pushing his jacket out to either side so he can sit back more comfortably, and Silver knows exactly who this man is.

 

“Why am I here?” Silver asks as Thomas Hamilton appraises him over the edge of a wine glass.

 

“You managed to convince my husband that you might be valuable to us,” Hamilton reveals, and when he leans forward, Silver sees how the expensive fabric of his suit pulls over long, lean muscle. “I think we ought to have a conversation about your proposition.”

 

“Your husband?” Silver asks, wondering just when he should try to make a break for it. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re speaking of.”

 

But then a door slides open from behind the couch, one that Silver hadn’t even noticed- and Flint walks in. 

 

“You wanted a partner,” Flint says without preamble, and when he walks around, he settles on the side of Hamilton’s chair, leaning into the arm that comes up around to wrap around his waist. “I’ve found you one.”

 

“More like two,” Hamilton says. “What do you say about that?”

 

“ _He’s_ your husband?” Silver asks, somewhat weakly. He’s going to die in this room. He wonders if Max will be the one to clear out his apartment.

 

“ _He’s_ going to help you,” Flint corrects. “When I told Thomas about your plan - he was intrigued. But despite your assumption, I’m not interested in taking sole ownership of the club, nor am I to turn against my husband.”

 

“He’s got a soft spot, it turns out, for me,” Hamilton says, and Silver would nervously laugh in any other situation. “But I will have to ask you to avoid any future plans of getting between us - in the business sense, at least.”

 

“Thomas,” Flint bites out, and Hamilton closes his mouth, looking amused as he takes another sip of wine. Flint raises his voice to address Silver again. “Eight percent of profits and the schedule, and we can talk about the names of the other undercover officers at a later time.”

 

“Ten, and I can tell you the date of the first raid right here,” Silver counters, because a negotiation, he can handle right now. Still, he feels the urge to ask, “But why? Why bring me in?”

 

“We want to expand our operation,” Hamilton says, and he looks up to Flint - looking for confirmation, Silver realizes, as Flint gives a nod, and Hamilton turns back to Silver. “We realize that what you can give us, what you can become, might be key in owning this city.”

 

“You want me to take over Hornigold’s position,” Silver says, and watches as Flint leans over Hamilton, easily plucking the glass from his hand to take a sip himself.

 

“No,” Hamilton says, bringing his hands forward, eyes fixed on Silver as much as Flint now. “We want you to rise all the way to the top.”

 

“It’ll take time,” Flint adds, setting the glass down in front of them. “You want revenge?” Hamilton’s hand tightens on his side ever so slightly. “This is how.”

 

“Just to clarify, you’re not about to shoot me in here?” Silver asks. “I’d hate to read that newspaper headline.”

 

Hamilton’s eyes glimmer with something like amusement, as Flint audibly scoffs. “No, we’re not going to shoot you. This is a nice carpet.”

 

“Say yes, and we can get started,” Hamilton says. “Say no, and you’ll never come back here again, but we’ll forget your name.”

 

“Turn against us-” Flint lets the sentence hang ominously. “My husband is a fair man. But I think that you’ll find that between the two of us, you don’t want to test us.” His eyes are heavy, though, with something beyond a mere threat as he watches Silver. “What do you say?”

 

“Would you like that wine after all?” Hamilton asks, nearly innocently, His eyes fall to Silver’s neck, where Silvers knows the bruise that Flint left is still visible. But before Silver can do something ridiculous like slap a hand over it - and Hamilton _has_ to know what happened, with the way he had eyed between the two of them when Flint had come into the room - he just picks up his glass again. But Silver can also see how his hand strokes up Flint’s knee, in a manner that’s less possessive and more - _considering_.

 

Hamilton catches his eye, then, and the smile he gives is full of promise. Silver meets Flint’s gaze, then, and while Flint isn’t smiling, that same consideration is there, as he lets Hamilton run a hand over his leg, fingers curved over to the inside of his leg, squeezing lightly.

 

Silver steps forward, and he takes a seat in the plush chair across from them. Flint’s eyes glitter, just like the light catching onto the surface of the wine that’s in Hamilton’s glass.

 

Hamilton leans forward to meet him, his eyes just as bright. Silver can see now the future that is starting in this room, in between the three of them, as he picks up the empty wine glass.

 

“I think I’ll try it,” Silver says, and he watches the corner of Flint’s mouth turn up.

 

•••

**Author's Note:**

> come shout at me @jamesbarlow


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